"Not by a justice of the peace!" cries the girl in horror.
"No, by a minister."
"Where will you find one?"
"On the next train behind us—the Reverend Mr. Millroy, of St. Paul. He's anxious to do some work; he has had no pastoral duties to perform for a month or two. Let us give him a chance—you know your father wished it!"
This mention of her father's views perhaps actuates Erma more than she imagines—but it also reminds her of him! She falters, "You are sure you will never repent? Remember, I am a Mormon's daughter!"
"So you are, and the belle of Newport and the sweetest—the dearest—the——"
But she cries, placing her patrician fingers on his moustache, "Stop!—no more compliments!"
"You consent?"
"P-e-r-haps! When do you wish it?"
"This evening!"